


Get Thee Behind Me

by Etaleah



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Acceptance, Angst, Bus, Canon Era, Coming Out, Don't copy to another site, Eventual Happy Ending, Ficlet, Heartbreak, Holding Hands, Hurt Crowley, Hurt No Comfort, In a way, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love, M/M, Pining, Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Apocalypse, Pre-Apocalypse, Public Transportation, Rejection, Sad Crowley (Good Omens), Self-Acceptance, Short Two Shot, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-23 12:41:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19701586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etaleah/pseuds/Etaleah
Summary: Before the events of Armageddon, Aziraphale and Crowley don't sit together on a bus. There's a reason for that.





	1. Chapter 1

It's their first time on a bus together.

And as much as Crowley loves his Bentley, he’s excited. Now that someone else is driving, he can give Aziraphale his undivided attention. They can sit much closer together on a bus, and being so high off the ground is fun and a little romantic. Lovely, clever humans, inventing buses. He ought to thank them one of these days.

Crowley gets on, and oh god, he _lives_ for that little smile Aziraphale gives him when they meet. It makes him as happy now as it did that first time at the Globe. His angel is waiting for him in the back, and Crowley can’t contain a little smile of his own as he walks through the rows. His heart bounces as that beautiful smile gets closer and closer, and Crowley is so happy he does a little hair flip as he swings himself into the seat next to Aziraphale.

Their shoulders are brushing. Their knees are closer than they've ever been.

He turns to his angel, happily asking how his day was, only to feel his love stiffen. The smile is gone. In its place is that nervous frown, eyes shifting and head turning.

“What’s the matter?” Crowley asks though he knows the answer. He can feel it in the slump of his shoulders and the drop of his heart.

“Nothing, nothing!” Aziraphale lies. “Er-well, it’s just…I think perhaps it might be better if we didn’t sit quite so close together.”

Crowley can’t remember the last time his chest hurt so much. “You want me to leave?” he asks.

“Oh no, it’s not that!” Aziraphale rushes to say, hands up in defense. “Of course I want you to sit nearby, just not…you know…not quite so close.” He needlessly adds, “For safety’s sake, you know.”

Crowley can’t say a word. He slowly stands up, grabbing the seat for support since the bus is moving, and sits behind Aziraphale instead.

 _Is this far enough for you to feel good about yourself? Are you less ashamed of me now?_ Is what he wants to say, is what’s bubbling like bile in his throat, but he doesn’t.

“Is this okay?” he asks in a voice that is softer and more understanding than he feels.

“Um, yes, I think that will do nicely,” Aziraphale says. He turns around, not saying more and still too stiff.

Crowley spends the ride staring at the back of his head, and trying to convince himself that’s enough.


	2. Chapter 2

This is the first time in decades when Crowley can remember stepping onto a bus and not feeling that pang in his chest. It's still there, of course, but not as sharply as before.

_You don't have a side anymore. Neither of us do._ Aziraphale had turned his face away, and Crowley feared he'd said the wrong thing, despite saying it as gently as he knew how. Just a moment later, though, as the bus was pulling in, he noticed the angel's shoulders lower and relax. He recognized that posture from when Aziraphale dropped into his armchair with a book at the end of a work day, always followed by a sigh of contentment. _That's finally all over with, and now I can relax_ , his body seemed to say.

That makes Crowley feel lighter too. Like maybe Aziraphale really will come stay with him. Of course, he has no idea where to put the angel if he does, given that he only has one bed and one chair, but they'll figure something out. Miracle up a new piece of furniture if they have to. Or…Crowley bites back a smile. There's always the alternative. He won't suggest that, though. This is Aziraphale, you have to go slowly with him.

The bus's interior is surprisingly bright, and Crowley is grateful for his sunglasses. He hurries to a window seat where he can turn his eyes to the soothing darkness outside. Bus rides are always easier when he's the first to sit down. That way Aziraphale can sit where he likes, and Crowley doesn't have to worry about accidentally picking a seat that's too close. He keeps his eyes on the window, not bothering to see how far away his friend sits this time. The ride won't be too long; they'll be together again soon enough.

He smiles. Now they have all the time in the world again, he remembers. Borrowed time, stolen time, but time nonetheless.

These lovely thoughts are broken when some idiot plops their arse down right next to him. _Really?_ He growls at the window. This whole bus is practically empty, and they sit next to _him_? Bastard. They'd better not start making conversation, or he'd—

"So where is your place?"

Crowley stops. Freezes. _There's no way._ It can't be. Aziraphale must be sitting right behind him or in front of him, and something about the acoustics on this bus make his voice sound closer than it is.

"Crowley?"

He turns his head to look.

"Aziraphale," he says, heart picking up speed. "Why are you…I thought you didn't—"

"There's no point in hiding it now," Aziraphale says. He puts a hand on Crowley's leg. "And I don't want to anymore."

Crowley can't take his eyes off that hand. He slowly, carefully, lowers his hand to rest on top of it, giving Aziraphale plenty of time to pull his own hand away. He doesn't.

"I'm glad," Crowley says, his voice barely a whisper. "Much nicer this way."

Aziraphale smiles, looking tired but happy. "I couldn't agree more." He closes his eyes, and his head starts to drift. Crowley catches it with his shoulder. They stay like that through the fastest bus ride of their lives.

As the driver stops in front of Crowley's building, asking himself _what on earth_ possessed him to drive to London at all, let alone stop at a place that isn't even on the route, Crowley nudges Aziraphale awake. "This is my stop," he says.

_"Our_ stop," Aziraphale tells him, and Crowley can't help a grin as his heart swells to bursting. They stand up together, walk through the rows, and as Crowley is coming down the steps, Aziraphale takes his hand for guidance—even though he doesn't need it.

The doors close behind them, and the bus drives off. Aziraphale hasn't taken his hand away, and Crowley doesn't let go of it. He leads the angel into his building and up the elevator, neither of them saying a word, but both of them happy.

They're still holding hands when they walk through the door.


End file.
